


My pain, your thrill

by tolkienhorror



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angband, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bladder Control, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Body Horror, Body Modification, Canon-Typical Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, First Age, Horror, M/M, Medical Procedures, Medical Torture, Medical Trauma, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Oral Sex, Permanent Injury, Restraints, Serious Injuries, Speculum, Spider Gag, Suspension, Torture, Trauma, Urethral Play, Wax Play, angbang, damn it's satisfying hurting sauron, non fluffy angbang, sauron gets to hang around, sauron is not having a good time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28343037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tolkienhorror/pseuds/tolkienhorror
Summary: Melkor is not happy with Sauron. He thinks, Sauron could use a makeover.
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36





	My pain, your thrill

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas to y'all! Have some wax play for the occasion!

"Do you think you deserve to be here with me tonight, Mairon?"

Well. That was a loaded question.

The last failed raid in the elves' territory had _technically_ not been Mairon's fault, but being tied up in heavy chains, upside down, his overstrained legs separated by a hefty spreader bar and his arms bound behind his back in a way that almost yanked his shoulders from their sockets, he was hardly in a position to object. At least not if he wanted to get out of this without his current preferred shape damaged beyond the point of repair.

With one of Melkor's steel-gloved hand wrapped around his cock and balls, ready to squeeze too hard anytime, tactical facts and chains of command mattered very little.

"Well?" Rigid, sharpened edges pressed into the pulsating flesh betraying Mairon's love for this kind of hurt, of humiliation, if it served to keep his Master satisfied. The tip of a diamond-sharp claw pressed into his slit, gliding up deep into his urethra until the dry burn and stretch drew a whimper from him ... the only sound his unfortunate predicament allowed from his lips.

"Oh, that's right. I've made sure the details of your incompetence can't bore me at least for one night."

With a snap of Melkor's fingers, the spidergag sitting deep between Mairon's lips was being cranked open another inch. He groaned and gasped, wriggling uselessly against the chains binding his ankles and wrists while the pain was throbbing in his jaw; sounds that were being cut short by the rustle of the halves of Melkor's leather pants parting and the beloved sensation of hot flesh pushing into his mouth.

Relentlessly, the hand not busy torturing his reddened cock was buried in his hair, keeping him in place when Melkor started fucking his throat. Every of Mairon's twitches in his chains and in his throat just left his Master thicker in his mouth until Marion thought he would die either from a lack of air or of the spiked metal contraction digging into the sensitive insides of his mouth, almost ripping his jaw right from its socket.

When his Master pulled back for a moment and he could draw much-needed air into his lungs, for a foolish, almost innocent moment he believed it to be mercy – as if his Lord had any care for whatever shape his most devoted Maia servant was coming to see him in. Bodies could be replaced, and this wouldn't be the first time Mairon needed to come up with new ideas after the number of failed raids and lost lands on Middle-earth had once more become too high.

Blood was collecting in his mouth from metal scraping him open and from his throat tightening up around something far too big being shoved down into it, again and again, a steady stream of delicious thick white running down his pipes, all the way until it burned his stomach. His nipples were being pulled taut to the point of almost tearing, from six long needles being lodged under his skin on each side, weighted brass balls dangling from each of those pentagrams, tugging on the sensitive skin. The rough metal around the fingertip behind that artificial claw pressed painfully against his slit and then _into_ it, using the blood the claw had left as lube.

And still his cock was hard rock in his master's hand, begging for attention.

He got it, though not exactly in the way he'd been hoping for. The gloved finger was being pulled back harshly, just like the cock fucking his throat open, so he was left sputtering and coughing, his back arching up against the unnatural strain of his position. He never got around to voice a plea for a break or for more, or for less, for whatever direction his confused, clouded mind was pulling him into, before the next undignified shriek came from his chapped, dry lips.

Another intruder was inserted deeply into his weeping cock, far deeper than that first knuckle had reached, just as dry though, slightly elastic, with a smooth surface … a candle. It never stopped on its way until it was entering his too full bladder, swollen with the remains of the amount of blood and waste that his master had forced down his throat earlier. With another wave of two of Melkor's massive fingers, the bottom of the object split three-ways, sealing it effectively in Mairon's body.

Though it wasn't all that hard to guess what was to come next, Mairon groaned a hoarse protest with his sore tongue when a brief snap of his Lord's fingers lit the candle, the devastating heat on the wick still a few inches apart from his stretched, bloodstained cock head … but not many.

"Now, now, don't you disappoint me with your mortal weakness once more, my faithful servant." Melkor's poisonous breath blew into the flickering light until sparks rained against Mairon's too full balls, eliciting shrieks and more twitches in his slender body, until he was sure, his nipples would rip right off his chest and his joints would pop from their sockets, causing him to pass out even before the lack of air could.

His Master pulled out of him in time for him to gasp, only to choke on the seemingly endlessly stream of white flooding his throat and airways next as Melkor used his mouth to find his release in. Too busy trying to swallow and not to lose a drop of the precious seed, to protect himself from even more punishment, it took the feeling of coldness first, and an awful _pull_ between his legs to realize that another contraption, similar to the one in his mouth, was invading his so far untouched hole. The rods slipped deeper into him by the second, pushing past natural barriers easily, reaching further than anything should by the laws of nature binding the bodies Mairon had shaped this form after.

Then his Lord cranked the spreader open, without a warning, without a drop of oil smoothening the flesh that it was stretching apart, save from the coppery red sipping from half a dozen tears.

It took Mairon a moment to realize, the fluid wetting the mane of his black hair hanging over his eyes, almost reaching down to the dirty, rocky ground, were tears.

_Please …_

It wasn't often that he reached out in the mental bond has Master had once created between them to talk to him even in the most utter chaos of a battle if need be, and he had no idea where he even found the focus for it.

But the retaliation was quick and very clear, coming in the shape of his Lord's massive shadow on the wall and the one of a candle in his hand, thick and almost three foot long … of the of scorching hot fluid dripping straight into Mairon's vulnerably exposed hole. The first patch of velvety skin that it hit felt like it was melting away, and Mairon screamed, screamed around the piece of flesh starting to fill out his mouth once more, as if his suffering was nothing but sweetest, most powerful aphrodisiac for his Master … as it was.

The vibrations around the thick head of his cock only seemed to encourage his master. Drop after drop of liquid wax was being poured into Mairon's helpless channel, coating his inner walls until the most sensitive of nerve-endings on the surface were numbed, one by one, and he could feel his guts slowly filling up with a soft but unforgivable mass that he would never be able to expel on his own. And that thanks to being cursed by his Master's dark magic, he wouldn't be able to just sing out of existence either.

"See, that's much better." The tool was pulled out of him with a jerk, and the coldness of his Lord's glove ghosted over his tortured hole for a moment, sealing it close before Mairon could even try to get rid of what was so cruelly pushing his intestines to its limits now, showing in the slight curve under his navel. "Now we don't need to have to worry about you thirsting for our thralls or your soldiers anymore when you should be out there doing your job."

Mairon didn't tell him that he had done no such thing, that his body didn't belong to anyone but his Master, because Melkor would know that anyway. This wasn't about a stupid incident with a Balrog who had come a little too close while they were crossing that mountain path, or about Mairon getting some shallow satisfaction from slitting one of his prisoner's throats. This was about the smallest, easiest win that Melkor could have on this day when they should have triumphed over those few defiant Noldor that had followed them across the sea. And hadn't.

Which. Technically, wasn't Mairon's fault. In fact, he had already made plans to take out the rest of those annoying bugs, starting by the fallen King's pretty, red-haired son.

But technicalities mattered little when you had vowed to restore order to this Eru-forsaken world. A world that would have to die before it could be properly reborn.

Just like him.

His body slacked in its bonds at last when he could feel the poisonous ingredients that had been used to make that candle started to seep into his bloodstream, when he understood he had never been called here to satisfy his Lord's more primal needs. The urges that Malkor's trapped, mortal body occasionally had. Mairon was indeed here so that Melkor could take another of his lives from him, to forget that misery of this, of his only weakness.

His jaw, too, relaxed, allowing those last few inches of his Lord's cock to slip into him, eager to please even as he was accepting his fate. When this time Mairon started to choke on the intrusion in his throat, Melkor didn't stop until the world was drowning in black shades and dying stars around Mairon.

His body caught in helpless convulsions and his head feeling more dizzy by the second, he only startled up once more at the firm grip around his rock hard cock. It was almost tender this time, careful and with just the right pressure, the perfect sweep of claw right under his cock head that had his blood boil and his head swim even more.

Mairon passed out to the sensation of his orgasm washing over him, knowing he wouldn't be waking up to this form restored.

Thinking about it, he'd always thought he would look ravishing as a strawberry blonde.


End file.
